Flannery O’Connor (Part I) — The House I Grew Up In

It’s almost time to leave the South. It seems like I’ve been gone forever. I had hoped to write more from the road but, I tell you, I’ve just been too exhausted when I drop into bed at night. That on-the-road research and writing takes a toll. And so does the heat. Yesterday it was 95 with a heat index of 108. Humidity like that saps my energy, and takes my breath away. This is the South of Flannery O’Connor.

To really get to know a writer, you need to walk in her shoes, live for a while where she lived, breathe the air she breathed, visit the places she called home. Flannery spent her childhood years until the age of 13 in the heart of the Historic District of Savannah, Georgia. She lived in an 1856 Savannah gray brick home owned by her beloved Cousin Katie. At the time the O’Connors lived in Savannah (from March 25th, 1925 to March, 1938 when the family moved to Milledgeville, Georgia) the population was three to four times greater than it is today.

According to the notes from a talk by Bill Dawers at the O’Connor home last December, a dozen or more people might have lived in the modest home in Lafayette Square in a dwelling that now houses only two or three. Savannah was more integrated with regard to race and class in the 1930’s, too. Before the automobile and the suburbs, nearly all Savannahians lived north of Victory Drive and people from all walks of life bumped into each other on Savannah’s city streets.

The two days we visited Savannah were sweltering hot; the evenings surrendered to cool breezes pooling off the river. We ate at a place called Moon River and walked through Greene Square (one of Oglethorpe’s many city squares) on the way back to our hotel room that night. Our visit was brief, as we spent most of our time down on St. Simons Island about 80 miles south; every minute counted. Our last stop heading out of Savannah was Flannery’s childhood home in Lafayette Square. She could see the spire of the Catholic church where her family worshipped from their second story bedroom.

The Flannery O’Connor Childhood Home Foundation celebrated her March 25th birthday on Friday, April 11th, by having a cookout and celebratory burning of the 207 East Charlton Street mortgage papers that had just been retired. Their vision of establishing, preserving, and maintaining the birthplace of writer Flannery O’Connor began in 1987. I am grateful for their perseverance.

A generous donation from Jerry Bruckheimer (whose wife, Linda, has long been a fan of O’Connor) restored a 1950’s kitchen back to the family library where Flannery learned to write and read. Many people have donated time, money, and original family furnishings, and the Florencourt Sisters, Louise and Frances, keep the aim true to the writer. It’s a partnership between many that works for the good of all.

My small donation was to purchase a few books before we left and the friendly and knowledgeable guide closed the doors for the day on Flannery’s childhood home. One came highly recommended — The Letters of Flannery O’Connor: The Habit Of Being. The guide told me if I want to learn about writing, read Flannery’s letters. I highly recommend them. Flannery called herself an “innocent speller” and I’m encouraged to see the humility she embodied through her casual misspellings and religious letter writing.

Before she flew back to Minneapolis earlier this week, Liz and I started reading the letters out loud to one another. My favorite time was sitting over Clarks Hill in the sultry afternoon heat, barely able to move, with the neighbor’s peacocks welting out their prehistoric caw in the distance. Flannery loved peacocks. In fact, she loved all birds, domestic and wild. Her letters are full of fowl references and a wicked Southern sense of humor that rattles my funny bone (I can relate, having grown up with it myself).

The Habit Of Being is a thick tome. I’m reading her letters in chronological order from beginning to end. The sweat that pours off of me each day I’ve spent in the South only reinforces childhood memories of the slowness with which people move, the Southern drawl that rolls off the front of the mouth, the sweet iced tea and grits, the longing for that one next simple breeze.

Flannery died in 1964 at the age of 39. She suffered from lupus. It did not keep her from writing two collections of short stories (A Good Man Is Hard To Find, Everything That Rises Must Converge) and two novels (Wise Blood, The Violent Bear It Away), and winning the O. Henry Award three times as well as being the posthumous winner of the National Book Award in 1972. Flannery lives on in her work and the lively letters edited by her close friend, Sally Fitzgerald.

Though she doesn’t write much about Savannah or her childhood in the letters, Flannery calls Cousin Katie’s home on Lafayette Square “the house I grew up in.” She slept in the room on the second floor over the kitchen with bright windows that look out over what was then a dirt courtyard. At the age of five, she taught a chicken, a buff Cochin Bantam, to walk backwards in that very courtyard (there are 15 seconds of movie to prove it). And she makes this comment in a letter to Maryat Lee: “I think you probably collect most of your experiences as a child — when you really had nothing else to do — and then transfer it to other situations when you write.”

It is to this end, that our childhood homes hold the weight of being. Think about the house you grew up in. Is it surrounded by farmland, an urban parking lot, mountains, desert, rivers or streams?

We were not permitted to take photographs inside the Flannery O’Connor home except in one location. I did capture a few images of the writer there. But I think I’ll save them for Part II. Part I is about home and the sense of place that surrounds us growing up. In Part II, I hope to talk more about what I’ve learned about Flannery from her letters, visiting her Savannah home, and the way she lived her life.

52 Responses

Finding and reading this post was deicious. O’Connor is a god in our house. You have inspired me to make a similar pilgrimage at some point although I have absolutely no Southern roots or connections. I’m straight up Western US, so your descriptions sound exotic, sensuos and sultry (which it is compared to my native desert clime.) Thanks for this.

Deborah, thank you so much. I’m so happy to have inspired you to visit Flannery’s home in Savannah some day. I’m so glad I had this opportunity. The day was getting away from us and we only had 1/2 hour before the house closed. Mom, Liz and I were walking in the intense heat on River Street and I wondered if we would make it to Flannery’s. Then Mom said, “No, we’re going. You’ve been looking forward to this since we planned this trip. We’re not going to miss it!” I’m so glad we did.

ybonesy, it’s good to be back. It felt really good to stay up late last night and write. I finally finished this this morning. Might have to run for a bit but hope to be back later. We are leaving again for Pennsylvania tomorrow. I am so full of everything — all these intense experiences. I trust it will all unfold as it is meant to. Thanks for holding down the fort! I’ve missed you, too.

BTW, ybonesy, it does seem important that I was able to connect with this part of Flannery’s life. She moved to Milledgeville, Georgia to her mother’s family farm and stayed in the South, though it was rural. I moved to the North at 13 which changed my life forever. But I still carry the early years. Flannery studied in Iowa and lived in New York for a while. But eventually came back home because of her illness. Home. Home and place are so important to who we are as writers.

Deborah, one other thing you reminded me of — I don’t think it matters where we are from when we make these pilgrimages for our writing, art, and work. I have made so many pilgrimages to New Mexico, a place I have no roots in whatsoever. But I am spiritually rooted there through my experiences and loves. I sure hope to visit other places that my favorite writers and artists call home. Walking in the footsteps of those who came before us.

QM: this is a wonderful post. It make me want to know more about Flannery O’Connor and to read her letters. I look forward to Part II. Also, you’ve got me thinking about the different kinds of hot. It is hot here today, over 90, but it is that very dry, high desert, Wyoming hot, where you still feel like you have to get up and keep going, as your skin dries out and turns leathery. It is different from the sultry, sweaty southern hot, which slows you down to a stop, or at least for a tall cold glass of sweet tea.

I’ve been waiting and waiting for this post; I’m thrilled it has arrived! I’m looking forward to sinking into the text you’ve written over a glass of iced tea later today. For now, I can say I am so surprised by the look of the house. I thought it would be a little wooden number with a chicken coop in back. Even though I knew the house was in Savannah, I still have her pictured *everywhere* with those peacocks.

Thanks for taking us along! Do you recall what the historical marker sign said?

I was surprised, too, Teri, but I guess because it seemed so urban, with the sidewalks and other brownstone-type homes around it. But of course, then I think of the changes in 80 years since she lived there.

Wow, so much here.
I love Flannery O’Conner – and now I’m inspired to read her letters. What a great way to “meet” the author.

Savannah – I’m always interested to hear about that town. My husband’s dad was stationed there, and though he was born in Chicago, his mom brought him “home” to Savannah as soon as they could flu – 3 weeks old. He lived his first 4 years there – from what I surmise, mostly in a diaper and cowboy boots. My MIL says it was beastly hot and she couldn’t keep clothes on him. 🙂

The South IS so different from the north. I was born only 300 miles south of where I now live, and life still moves more slowly in my hometown. Here in Wisconsin, I have to make a conscious effort not to race from place to place. I wonder why? Though maybe it IS the heat, partly. When it’s hot, I just want to sit, read a book, and fan myself with a cardboard fan – an old thing I love from a funeral home give away dated 1953, the year I was born.

I should have read that comment before I posted it . The many “he’s” in that second paragraph! – my husband was the one born and flying on the airplane (fly, not flu) and wearing the diaper – NOT his dad. 🙂

Can you tell I’m on vacation and my mind is half asleep? Ugh – what a messy bit of writing! Sorry.

Living in the South, this post was a joy to read. You sure capture the heat. And you picked two quintessentially southern topics to write about–Flannery O’Connor and Savannah. The soulful quirkiness of the South is embodied in both the writer and the city. Great writing, QM.

Yes, it’s like walking into a pizza oven every time you step outdoors. Sigh. Makes you do desperate things. 🙂

breathepeace, YES, different kinds of hot. Liz and I were talking about that endlessly on this visit South. It’s been a long, long time since I spent a July in Georgia, and let me tell you, it’s sweltering. Lordy, mercy.

Mom and I went out for a short time today to run a few errands before the trip back to PA — it was 101 inside the car. But it’s really the humidity that knocks your socks off and depletes the energy. Whew. I couldn’t live here again. I’m such a winter girl. But I’m so glad I got to experience Augusta, Savannah, the Georgia coast in this place called the South.

BTW, Liz told me when she got home to Minneapolis, it was 92 degrees and everyone was complaining about it. But to her, it was balmy and she opened all the windows!

Teri and ybonesy, I think it was a lot dirtier and more rugged when she lived there. Horses and streetcars and lots of bustling around the squares. I was kind of surprised, too, at how modest her home was. I hope to make it to the farm in Milledgeville someday to see where she spent her last days. Maybe next trip.

Bo, I’m really enjoying her letters immensely. When Liz was reading them that day over Clarks Hill lake and the peacocks were howling, I thought I would die. I didn’t recognize them at first; it was Liz that said, “Aren’t those peacocks in the distance?”

I LOVE that you brought up the cardboard fans. That’s one of my memories of Aunt Cassie’s wrap-around porch — sitting with a fan with a painting of Jesus with a staff and sheep on the front of it. That’s so much the South. And people on their porches. We didn’t have AC when I was growing up. I spent a lot of time outside in the water or planted right in front of a huge old FAN. You have to experience this kind of heat to believe it.

Christine, “the soulful quirkiness” — a great way to describe the South. I thought of you when I wrote this post and when I’ve been running around down here sweating my buns off. But mostly, the culture. The people are friendly and they look you in the eye. That’s one thing I really noticed — how they look you in the eye. In Minneapolis, people tend to avoid the eyes. Don’t know why. It’s a more distant culture. And things move very slow here, compared to the snap, snap, snap of the Midwest.

I think the heat does drive some to do desperate things. Just walking out the door can Zap you bigtime. Thanks for commenting. I know you know what I’m talking about down here. 8)

Teri, how was the iced tea? I bet it wasn’t quite sweet enough, was it? I’ve drank a TON of sweet tea down here, gallons, I bet. I haven’t had hardly any Coke Zero. I always order the sweet tea.

The historical marker — maybe I can take the time to type it into the comments later. That would be a good thing. But for now, click on the very last thumbnail photos and you’ll probably be able to read it.

I noticed that it says she referred to it as “the house I was raised in.” And I knew I had seen that somewhere before. When I wrote the piece, I looked at a pamphlet of Flannery I picked up in Savannah and it said she said “the house I grew up in.”

I was wondering about that because down here, we definitely say — “I was raised in” and not “grew up in.” So there you have it. Which did she say? I’m guessing she said “the house I was raised in.” And a Northerner wrote the pamphlet. 8) You just never know.

QM, thanks for the lovely photos, with the architecture and the mossy trees, that soft grey interspersed with color – really captures the feeling of Savannah. Even the simplicity of the O’Connor home captures the sense of urban civilized Southern hospitality.

We have spent a few days and nights in Savannah here and there, while our daughter lived in Georgia and an artist son applied to /visited SCAD, which is a force in the restoration of Savannah architecture.

Some high points are the amazing historical cemetery (with a large Jewish section) – the walking Ghost Tour, very informative and fun, the Paris-like beauty of the squares – the lively waterfront, with cobblestones from the 1600s (did you know they were actually ballast from the ships, used for paving?) – enormous ships coming in —

Savannah was spared during the Civil War, it was not razed like Atlanta, and so has the flavor of centuries of diverse population and beautiful buildings that have stood the ravages of weather, that soften the facades.

QM, how did you like St. Simon’s Island? Worth the time you spent there? We’re thinking of a visit in the fall.

I took your advice and enlarged the thumbnail photo. After reading the historic marker, I’m dying to think of a way to use the word “thrice.” And I hope you do get to Milledgeville, QM. We’ll all reap the benefits by reading your posts about it.

Did Flannery know how seriously ill she was before she died? How does lupus overtake someone?

I concur with your grew up in/raised in theory:

QuoinMonkey was raised in Georgia.
Flannery was raised in Savannah.

However…
skywire grew up in North Dakota, which is the same place Louise Erdrich grew up. F. Scott Fitzgerald grew up in Minnesota, but he certainly wasn’t raised there.

I’m currently the president of the Flannery O’Connor Childhood Home Foundation and I can’t even begin to say how thrilled I am to have found this post. (Thank goodness for Google Alerts!)

The home that Flannery was raised in is indeed a remarkable building, and we have many plans to expand our library collection as well as become a true literary center for all of Savannah. In the meantime, I’m always impressed by the intelligence, thoughtfulness, and devotion of our visitors.

In response to the post above, lupus is an autoimmune disease (the immune system itself attacks the body). There can be many symptoms and many flare ups — and as I understand it, the damage can be done to almost any part of the body. Flannery’s first major flare up as a young woman forced her to move to Milledgeville and to use crutches. Her father had died of the disease at age 42 (I think), so there’s little doubt that she knew what the stakes were. I do not know how aware she was in her final days, however, that the disease had taken a fatal course.

My blog partner is going to be delighted to see that you found this post, Bill. She is still on the road, but she will be checking in soon.

This post was fabulous, and one of the things that came through was QM’s appreciation for the work that your foundation (and, therefore, you and others on the staff) and others have done to preserve and promote Flannery O’Connor’s legacy. Thank you so much for all your passion toward that end.

If you check back in, I would be curious as to how you came to become President of the Foundation. Is there a link there, perhaps a love of the author’s work from an early age?

Thanks ybonesy,
I first encountered O’Connor in a course at Washington University in 1984, when I was 20. We were required to read The Violent Bear It Away, maybe not the best introduction to O’Connor’s work, and I’m not sure in retrospect that the professor even knew what to make of it.

I didn’t become truly acquainted with O’Connor’s work until I was teaching college parttime around 2000 here in Savannah at Armstrong Atlantic State University. Not long after that, Rena Patton — the board president at the time and a former colleague of mine at another school — asked me to come on the board. I suspect I ended up as president because I have a broad knowledge of Savannah from writing a column three days a week in the Savannah Morning News.

I could go on and on about my own interests in O’Connor — especially her growing relevance in an era that seems so sharply defined by the religious experience . . .

Anyway, that’s all for now, and thanks so much again for providing such a bright spot for literate folks on the web.

Teri, I sure hope to make it to Milledgeville on another trip to the South. We packed as much as we could into this one. I think the Savannah guide might have mentioned that the farm there is falling into some disrepair and needs financial help for preservation and upkeep but I haven’t looked into it yet. I think I read the same thing from another source. So I don’t think the farm is as kept up or organized as the Savannah home.

There are towns of other Southern writers I’d like to visit on a future trip. Liz and I marked them on the Georgia map we were using this trip. Two that come to the forefront — Alice Walker (Eatonton, GA) and Carson McCullers (Columbus, GA). I want to walk where they have walked. Mom said there are also some great writers in and around Augusta where I grew up. I’ll definitely be back to the South.

lil, I really did like Savannah and wish we’d had more time there. The Savannah College of Art and Design sure is a force to be reckoned with in preserving the architecture of Savannah. We took a tour of the city and the guide pointed out all the buildings that SCAD had bought and preserved, turning some into dorms for their students.

I wish we’d had time to take one of the ghost tours. We looked into them but the one we wanted was sold out and we weren’t in a position to walk very far (plus the heat index was 108!). Maybe next time.

But those cobblestone streets, amazing. Yes, I did find out this trip that they are made from the actual stones that the settlers used as ballasts. And that Savannah was saved from the ravages of the Civil War, presented as a gift I believe. Mom knows much of that history from doing the family tree. Some of our ancestors came over with Oglethorpe, landed on St. Simons, and settled in Darien. So I was thrilled to visit the area.

St. Simons is wonderful. I could spend a whole week there just walking around, checking out the history and lounging on the beach. We only had time to get to the beach one late evening. It was wonderful. I was used to Ocean City, Maryland where the water is cold though. And on St. Simons the water was so warm! The food is good. It’s small and quaint and full of history from the 1600’s and 1700’s. Well worth the time.

Bill, as ybonesy mentioned, I am absolutely thrilled that you landed on this post. When I quoted you from the newsletter, I wasn’t yet aware you were the president of the Flannery O’Connor Childhood Home Foundation. I saw your first comment when I was on the road and was so excited, I showed it to my whole family (after our long drive from Georgia back to Pennsylvania where my family now lives).

I really appreciate the work you and your foundation are doing to preserve the childhood home of Flannery in Savannah. If our visit is any indication, you will realize your dream of making her home a literary center for all of Savannah. On our tour of the house, a woman from Puerto Rico joined us at the last minute. She was as thrilled as we were to be there and said she had read Flannery’s books in her studies growing up.

On the plane home to Minneapolis (where I now call home), I continued to read her letters (The Habit Of Being) and have just entered into the period where she is writing to and receiving letters from A. (I think that’s Betty Hester isn’t it? I read they released the Betty Hester/Flannery letters last May at Emory.)

I am really enjoying Flannery’s letters. And what you say about “her growing relevance in an era that seems so sharply defined by the religious experience . . .” is starting to come to life in the letters between A. and Flannery. I have to read them more slowly as they delve into nihilism, fascism, and religious doctrine, but in ways that are digestible (as they are only letter-sized snippets) and full of Flannery’s personality, humor, and Southern roots.

I hope to do another few posts on Flannery as I make my way through her books. Thank you for the link and for gracing us with your comments. Much appreciated!

Well thanks again for all the interest in O’Connor, Savannah, and the Childhood Home.

I would definitely recommend a trip to Andalusia in Milledgeville — it’s an extraordinary experience. It’s also difficult to compare with our situation. Andalusia has a paid executive director, so in many respects it is run much more efficiently and professionally than our operation is. On the other hand, it’s a huge property with many buildings, almost all of which need some sort of repair or restoration work. While I love Milledgeville, it’s nevertheless a much smaller town than Savannah, and therefore does not have the fundraising base that we can count on.

It’s very very hard to characterize the average O’Connor reader, but I’ll think about it more. She frankly seems as likely to interest an atheist as a Catholic (maybe moreso) and to interest a northerner as a southerner and a young person as much as an older person.

And I’m sure that you will all be interested to know that the website for the Southern Literary Trail (www.southernliterarytrail.org) should go live soon. It has pages devoted to literary sites — about 20 altogether as I recall.

Yes, “A” is Betty Hester. Hester apparently had other letters from O’Connor that she did not release to Sally Fitzgerald, who edited “The Habit of Being.” Those were given to Emory, which made them public just last year per Hester’s timetable. Here’s an interesting page about Hester, who died in 1998: http://www2.gcsu.edu/library/sc/collections/oconnor/hester.html

For those who have enjoyed ANY of O’Connor’s stories, I would very much recommend reading the letters. It’s quite a nourishing experience.

[…] Lake where he swears he once saw an alligator. After that, when Liz and I were sitting on the dock, reading Flannery O’Connor’s letters, The Habit Of Being, I could swear she was keeping one eye open for gators. It did make me a little leery of dipping my […]

[…] at every turn. Boxes turned up in storage with letters from my mother and grandmother. And I’m midway through the letters of Flannery O’Connor; you wouldn’t believe how much I am learning about this great Southern writer from reading her […]

[…] Everything. Maybe for you, it’s not Mark Twain. But have you ever seen Georgia O’Keeffe’s paintings, then longed to visit Abiquiú or the Pedernal near Ghost Ranch, New Mexico? It throws a whole other perspective on a lifetime of painted desert. What about Hemingway’s early days in Kansas City, Missouri. Or Flannery O’Connor’s childhood home in Savannah, Georgia. […]

[…] Savannah home on a breezy morning bus tour last summer. Later that day, we would take Mom to see the childhood home of writer Flannery O’Connor, but the tour of Low’s home will have to wait until the next trip South. Juliette Gordon Low […]

[…] My roots are steeped in memories of Southern dialect, and the writing and letters of writers like Flannery O’Connor, Alice Walker, and Carson McCullers. I feel an intense connection to the land and culture in the […]

I started reading another southern writer yesterday-Helen Keller. I read a pamphlet about her a week ago, and it occurred to me I have never read her book: The Story of My Life. I got a copy at the library (I suspect it hasn’t been read in years), and have been reading about her life in Alabama.

Interestingly (and I’m about halfway through the book), she barely goes to the dark side. I mean, she could really scratch and claw about her condition, but instead, she talks about the woods, the birds, sledding in Boston, and the love of her parents. Perhaps, in 1903 when it was published, one wasn’t allowed to describe gut-wrenching loneliness and fury at God for letting you get scarlet fever.

It motivated me to go to the Helen Keller Birthplace website, and I see it is a tourist attraction. The original pump is still there, where the famous w-a-t-e-r connection was made. Has anyone on red Ravine been there?

Teri, I didn’t know any of that about Helen Keller. Thanks so much for leaving this comment. You prompted me to check out the website with the info about the place of her birth in Tuscumbia, Alabama. It’s fascinating to read about her life there. I’ll add a link here for others who might want to check it out:

You bring up a good point about what it meant to write about the details of a life, for good or bad, in 1903, and what it means to write about a life in today’s world where the grit and dirt are widely accepted to sell books. Was she conforming to the writing of the time? Or did she just want to keep her attitude positive and write from that perspective? Was it personal choice.

I love your reference to the water pump where Anne Sullivan tapped out the word W-A-T-E-R. Doesn’t it just give you goose bumps to think about that and the chance to sit or walk right by that water pump? I hope we never lose our enthusiasm about preserving the past and the homes of writers, artists, those who triumphed over adversity. We can learn so much about life from standing on their Home Ground.

One state I’ve never been to is Alabama. If I was there as a child, I don’t remember. I don’t think I’ve been to Mississippi either. It makes me want to ask my parents who have lived in the South if they’ve ever been to those states.

I bet few people of late have read Helen Keller’s book. I know I’ve never read her book. I’m trying to think if we read it in junior or high school. I can’t recall.

I’ve never been to Alabama either. In fact, I’ve only ever been to Georgia, and even then, only Athens on one trip and Atlanta on a couple of others. Oh, I’ve been to Missouri, St. Louis. That’s not really a southern state. Miami, Florida, and Orlando. And then North Carolina, again not south. I hardly know the South, truth be told. I honestly wouldn’t have guessed that Helen Keller was from Alabama.

Interesting that the book paints her life in only positive tones. I wonder if it has something to do with the fact that she was wordless during the deepest darkness. Or, as you postulate, it definitely could have been a matter of etiquette for autobiography in those days. That makes a lot of sense for some reason.

I went rollerblading at the Gateway Trail today, and when I was finished, read a few more chapters in The Story of My Life. In the movies I’ve seen about Helen, they always portray this violent, unkempt child–an animal until Anne Sullivan appears. Helen doesn’t describe herself this way at all…just a bit frustrated at times. Her writing is sprinkled with lots of Bible verses. Again, something likely expected of writers in 1903.

When I went to hear Jimmy Carter in Plains five or six years ago, I drove through Mississippi (wanted to see the Delta), Alabama (wanted to see Selma and the bridge Martin Luther King walked across), and of course, Plains, Georgia. I really liked being in the South…so different than I expected. I would love to see Helen Keller’s birthplace, too (Thanks for the link, QM). I’m glad it’s all preserved.

When I was growing up, there was a family who rented a broken-down farmhouse down the gravel road from us. The woman was a single mother (unheard of in our neighborhood) who appeared to have dozens of children. One of them would run up the road to our place; he’d make strange sounds, swing from the trees, and if we weren’t home, come into our house and eat food. I was terrified of him. My parents would load him into their car several times a week and deliver him back to his mother. One time when we were off swimming, he came into our house and did serious damage. That time, my dad called the sheriff. Jeffrey was taken to the doctor and it was discovered he was deaf.

He was taken to the Faribault School for the Deaf, and never heard of again. I tried to track him down a few years ago, but had no luck. What does Jeffrey remember about those years?
It occurs to me he was probably acted just like Helen Keller.

When I was in Georgia, Liz called to let me know that a writer friend of hers from college (Moorhead State, MN) was going to be in Milledgeville, Georgia reading from her new book, The Bigness of the World. She had just won the Flannery O’Connor Award for Short Fiction and was going to be honored there. They were also going to tour Andalusia, Flannery’s Mom’s place, where Flannery spent her later years.

The writer’s name is Lori Ostlund. I did a series of Tweets on her when I was in Augusta, Georgia last week. Milledgeville was a few hours away and too far for us to travel on this trip. But if she would have been closer, we would have gone to visit Andalusia and to hear Lori read.

Congratulations, Lori! When I got home to Minnesota, Liz had bought the book of short stories The Bigness of the World. I’m going to add the links and tweets I did on it when I was Down South. I don’t want them to get lost (and tweets are only searchable for a certain amount of time). Congrats again, Lori! It’s always a pleasure to support other writers.

___________

red Ravine Tweets from Georgia, October 21st, 2009

Lori Ostlund (friend of Liz) won the Flannery O’Connor Award for Short Fiction. Reading in Milledgeville, GA Thurs. http://bit.ly/2kLnF

Andalusia in Milledgeville, Georgia is one of the childhood homes of Flannery O’Connor. http://bit.ly/2HvDyj

Mom, Liz and I visited Flannery O’Connor’s other childhood home in Savannah last year. More on post at red Ravine: http://bit.ly/3aGAp5

Wish we could hear Lori Ostlund read from her award winning book. But Milledgeville is 2 hours away. Her website: http://bit.ly/3tAAD1

Praise from Dorothy Allison, author of Bastard Out of Carolina, for Lori Ostlund’s The Bigness of the World. http://bit.ly/3tAAD1

Adding a note here. Just got off the phone from a doming resin meeting with ybonesy and talked about how she met Liz’s friend, writer Lori Ostlund, quite by chance at Indie bookstore, Bookworks in Albuquerque last week. Was fun to hear about the reading. Total synchronicity.

ybonesy tweeted about it last week. Lori’s got ties in New Mexico and Minnesota. Maybe she’ll eventually visit Minnesota as part of her book tour. Her newly published book The Bigness of the World recently came out. It won the Flannery O’Connor Award for Short Fiction last year. More links in the comment above. Small world!

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Serendipity, QM + @skywire7! Lori Ostlund read tonight @bkwrksevents from her collection of short stories, The Bigness of the World.

If you missed writer Lori Ostlund read tonight at Bookworks in #ABQ, you can see her tomorrow 7p in the SUB Thunderbird Room

Here’s an interview with Lori Ostlund (who will be reading in #ABQ tomorrow) in recent issue of @weeklyalibi http://bit.ly/2I8U0e

It’s wonderful to read your post about Flannery! Born and raised in Georgia, is how I was taught to say it. (Well, actually, I was born in Alabama…mother in labor in small SW Georgia county was driven across the Chattahoochee River to give birth to me then a few days later driven back across the river and home to Blakely, GA.)

My family lived for four years in Milledgeville–attended 1-4th grade there, at Southside Elem. Can you believe that I never visited Flannery’s family farm there? I must put this on my list.

Very much enjoyed all the discussion here about the heat and humidity. No one mentioned gnats, though. To me, they are much worse than the heat! But then again I’m Southern and the hot, wet air makes me feel so alive.

Wait! Is there a reason your mom was taken across the border to give birth? Was there a better hospital, or did someone think a birth certificate listing Alabama is better than Georgia? You’re sort of a celebrity in my mind now…going to elementary in Flannery’s town and all.

I love that hot, wet air makes you feel alive. I think it’s what we come from; it’s comforting and homey. I feel the same way in a blizzard.

One more thing…have you seen the movie, “A Time to Kill” with Sandra Bullock? It takes place in Mississippi (I think), and the actors are covered in sweat in many scenes from the heat and humidity. When I watch it, I wonder if the sweat bothers them, or if in the South it’s no big thing. They make it look sexy in the movie.

Lisa, what a rich heritage you have. Love the story about your mom giving birth after being drive across the Chattahoochee River! I hope you get to Andalusia, Flannery’s family farm in Milledgeville some day. It’s the next place I want to visit on my literary stops in Georgia. That and Alice Walker’s hometown.

Oh, BTW, the house I was born and raised in is exactly what Flannery said. When I was reading her letters in The Habit of Being, I ran across her exact words. I think when I wrote this post, I misquoted her, maybe a blurb from a piece of literature I had picked up when I was there.

Born and raised….I just reread this piece and it brought back how alive I felt that day with Mom and Liz in Savannah. It was SO HOT and humid, we were melting on the brick and cobblestone streets. Stones that had come off of the ships that first landed in Savannah. I felt close to Flannery that day.

I’m reminded that she died so young, but had a big impact on the world. I was still living in Georgia the year she died, 1964. Strange to think about.

Lisa, if you end up visiting Andalusia, come back and let us know about your experience there!

Teri, that rocks! I’ve never heard her voice. Sometimes I’ll troll the web, looking for recordings of writers voices. You find them in the most obscure places. Did you get the Flannery O’Connor recording at the library? Was it a cassette? I’d love to check that out and listen to it. Does she sound like Georgia? 8)

Yes, I got it at the library, and yes, she sounds very Georgia! It’s an extra feature on the DVD “Wise Blood.” She gives a short introduction that you’d love–talking about Southern Gothic and making the audience roar. Run (don’t walk) to the Hennepin County Library.

Teri, thank you so much! Liz was on the library site and I mentioned the Wise Blood CD (Lizzie Loves Libraries!). She immediately looked it up and saw that it had been returned to East Lake Library (I wonder who that was?). It’s now on its way to the Golden Valley library so I can have a listen to Flannery O’Connor’s voice! I love learning about Southern Gothic, too. I have read and listened to many writings and broadcasts on the genre. Will be fun to hear what Flannery has to say about it. I remember reading her book of letters, The Habit of Being, and laughing out loud. She is really funny. That humor is part of Southern culture. And it’s something I miss having lived in the North all these years. When I go back South with Mom, I love how welcoming people are and their sense of humor always shines through. Thanks for the tip on the CD. Will let you know when I have a chance to listen!

Teri, after a long waiting list, the Wise Blood CD came up for me in the library. What a fantastic glimpse into the making of John Huston’s Wise Blood (1979). I listened to the 1959 archival recording of author Flannery O’Connor reading her short story “A Good Man Is Hard To Find” first. Then watched the 26-minute episode of Creativity with Bill Moyers (1982) featuring John Huston discussing his life and work.

Then I watched the theatrical trailer for Wise Blood. Then the movie itself.

After that, I watched the interview with actor Brad Dourif (Hazel Motes) and how he got into the character that “right out of the army, attempts to open the first Church Without Christ in the small town of Taulkinham.” He had great insights into John Huston as well as the Fitzgerald brothers. I had not realized that the screenplay for Wise Blood was written by Benedict Fitzgerald, and that the movie was produced by Michael Fitzgerald. These two are brothers and the sons of Sally Fitzgerald (costume designer for the movie) who was one of Flannery O’Connor’s best friends and edited The Habit of Being (Flannery’s book of letters).

I recommend this Wise Blood CD to everyone who is a Flannery O’Connor fan. The Fitzgeralds took great care in their work with Huston to add what they knew of Flannery’s vision for Wise Blood to the movie. It was like having her family on the set. Very cool. And hearing Flannery O’Connor’s voice and that Southern sense of humor I read in her letters come to life was so much fun. That Georgia accent is one that is very familiar to me. One of the places I have called home.

[…] It was blistering hot and steamy the afternoon we visited the Upper Mill Cemetery in Darien, Georgia. On a search for ancestral archives, Liz, Mom and I took a road trip from Augusta, Georgia to St. Simons Island where we spent a few days and visited with relatives. We then drove north stopping in Fort Frederica and Upper Mill Cemetery in Darien. Our last stop was Savannah, a city I hope to visit again someday. Looking through these photographs, I realize how important it is to document your travels. It’s been four years since I have returned to the South. Each photo conjures the heat, humidity, live oaks, Gold Coast breezes, white packed sand, and the pilgrimage to Flannery O’Connor’s childhood home. […]

[…] in northern Minnesota, birthplace of the Mississippi River. We have sweated under live oaks near Flannery O’Connor’s childhood home in Savannah, photographed an old gingko at the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum in Chaska, and […]